


The Rug Beneath His Feet

by doodlegirll



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, Cecil is Human, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Episode: e033 Cassette, Re-Education, Tattooed Cecil, sentient tattoos, spoilers for Episode 33: Cassette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlegirll/pseuds/doodlegirll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos knew that Cecil was NOT okay. And he'd be damned if he let his boyfriend tell him otherwise. .:Spoilers for "Cassette":.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rug Beneath His Feet

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever WTNV fanfic! I've been trolling around the fandom for a while, cooing at fanart and reading fanfiction until my brain feels like its going to explode, but it wasn't until Episode 33 "Cassette" that I was bitten by the fanfic bug myself, and thus, this ensued.
> 
> It's not my best work in the world, and I'm not entirely sure I got Cecil and Carlos's personalities down pat, but I'm fairly pleased with this. :) I absolutely LOVE the Cecilos pairing, and I love that it's canon. :) They're so freaking adorable together it's like a cavity.
> 
> I'd also like to note that my headcanon Cecil does not have a third eye, nor tentacles, but I do love the idea that he has sentient tattoos, blond hair (though my version is more platinum/white), and purple eyes. :)
> 
> So I hope you enjoy! I will also be posting this on fanfiction.net, so if you want to check it out over there, please feel free. :)
> 
> STORY SONG: "Only You're the One" by Lifehouse
> 
> Disclaimer: Night Vale is owned by Joseph Fink, and Cecil owns himself. I do not.

Carlos had heard Cecil's broadcast.

He had heard every second of it.

At first, he had found it almost humorous, listening to a fifteen year old Cecil speak through a crackly tape recorder, his deep, melodious voice high and almost supine in sound. He had chuckled at the dorkish qualities that young Cecil conveyed, and his enthusiasm for interning at the radio station.

And then the end of the end of the tape played.

While Cecil had tried to go about the broadcast as though nothing were wrong, but with the snapping of the plastic of the tape, and the assurance that everything was fine, and a spiel about growing older, Carlos had heard, so very well, the distress in Cecil's voice. There was a slight tremble, a gurgle of air, to his tone that sent chills down Carlos's spine.

Cecil was not fine. And he needed him.

Carlos had gotten to Cecil's apartment as fast as he could, considering the Hooded Figures that were out for their nightly stroll about the streets of Night Vale. He supposed he could probably have driven right through them, and they wouldn't have given him so much as a second glance, but he was not entirely sure, and he was not sure that a Hooded Figure was one he wanted to piss off. So, he allowed the figures to pass as they did, and sped off, thankful that Cecil's request that his Stop Sign Immunity be annexed to Carlos was approved by the City Council.

When he arrived at the apartment complex, Carlos quickly threw the car into park, noting with relief that Cecil's little silver car was indeed parked in its designated spot, and ran into the building, sprinting up the stairs three at a time to the second floor. He fished around in his pockets for the key that Cecil had had made for him, finally finding it and thrusting it into the lock of the door, stepping inside.

"Cecil?" He called. "Cec? Are you here?"

There was no answer. Carlos quietly closed the door behind him and scanned the area around him as he walked down the hall.

He found him in the bedroom, curled into a tight ball on the bed, his face buried in a pillow that he clutched to his bare chest. His shoes and shirt lay haphazardly on the floor where he had deposited them, and Carlos carefully bent to pick them up and place them on the chair in the corner as he made his way forward into the dark room.

Cecil made no indication that he had heard the scientist enter, keeping his face pressed firmly into the pillow and his back to Carlos as he gently sat down on the edge of the bed. Cecil's tattoo sleeves, usually bright and vibrant with life as they curled themselves around the radio host's arms and shoulders, had retracted themselves into a single mass at the center of Cecil's back, as though huddling under an overhang in a storm. Carlos reached out a hand and placed it on Cecil's shoulder, and one of the purple tentacle tattoos slowly crept from the swirling mob and met Carlos's fingertips. He smiled sadly, and gently stroked the tattoo as though it were a newborn kitten, as if to say, _Don't worry. I'll make sure they pay for what they've done to him. I won't let them hurt him again._

Without another word, Carlos removed his shoes and climbed into the bed next to his boyfriend, placing his arms around him securely and pulling him close. Cecil let out an estranged whimper, and Carlos tightened his grip around him.

"Shhh," he soothed. "It's going to be okay."

A single, broken sob, muffled by the pillow still pressed firmly against the radio host's face, was the only reply, and Carlos felt his heart breaking, shattering into a thousand fragments that perfectly mirrored that of Cecil's devastated and disembodied memories.

After a few moments of silence, Cecil lowered the pillow and turned so that he was facing Carlos, whose arms remained firmly around the radio host's slim body. Cecil sniffed and took in a staggered breath, trying to regain the composure he usually so effortlessly conveyed. He brought his arms up and around Carlos, gripping the scientist's lab coat in his fists as though he were holding onto the only lifeline he had in the sea of emotions that threatened to topple and sink his structured and organized life that had turned out to be nothing more than a lie. Cecil pressed his face into Carlos's chest and bitterly wept.

That damn cassette had stolen so much from him, Carlos pondered as he held his trembling boyfriend close for several more minutes, stroking his white-blond hair lovingly and pressing small, feather-light kisses to the man's sweaty forehead, all the while trying to assure him that he was safe, and that everything was going to be okay, no matter what Cecil could and could not remember.

_Those cruel bastards._

After what seemed like hours, Cecil's erratic sobs finally began to abate, and his grip on the back of Carlos's lab coat loosened somewhat. For a moment, Carlos wondered if he had fallen asleep, but as Cecil raised his red-rimmed purple eyes to meet his, he knew that sleep was not a commodity that would be found as easily this night as it had in the past.

"Carlos, I—" He began, his usually sonorous voice still choked and thick with emotion.

Carlos shook his head and shushed him.

"Don't talk." He commanded. "It's okay."

Cecil shook his head, fervently. "No, it's not alright, Carlos! It is absolutely, undeniably _not alright._ " He insisted.

"Cecil…" Carlos started, but Cecil's grip on him tightened once more, and the radio host's eyes screwed tightly together.

"I _died_ , Carlos!" Cecil said, softly. "I think…I think I _died_ on that cassette. I think something happened to my mother…my brother. _Why_ don't I remember having a brother?! What happened to them?! What happened to _me?!_ "

Carlos sighed, and searched for the right words, but none came. Instead he simply moved his hands to gently massage the aching, tight muscles of Cecil's shoulder blades, and the tattoos there squirmed as they moved out of the way to the small of Cecil's back so that Carlos could do his job.

"I don't know." He finally answered. "I don't know, Cecil."

He was a scientist, who had only come to Night Vale in the first place to seek out answers, and now, they only thing he wanted, with every cell in his soul, to answer, he could not.

Cecil's eyes welled with tears again, and he buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry." He said from behind them. "I'm sorry. I'll be fine in a minute."

"No, you won't be fine." Carlos gently removed Cecil's hands from his face, and wiped away some of the stray tears that were staining the other man's cheeks as they made their pilgrimage down his skin with the pads of his thumbs. "You can't just ignore this and hope it goes away, Cecil. You need to talk about this."

Cecil looked away from his boyfriend, almost ashamedly.

"How am I supposed to talk about something I can't remember?" He questioned.

"Locking it away isn't the answer." Carlos said quietly.

"I just…" Cecil sighed. "I just… _don't remember_." He said the final two words through his teeth. "I always thought my mother died in a car accident when I was fifteen…now I'm not so sure. I think…I think someone took her from me…and I think they took my brother, too…I guess it's possible they both left of their own volition, but…" He shook his head.

"What else?" Carlos pressed.

"I…I don't know." Cecil said. "I think maybe…I think maybe I was re-educated. To forget." His violet gaze met Carlos's again. "I've been lied to, Carlos. And I…"

He didn't finish. Instead he pulled away from the warmth and sturdy safety that Carlos provided. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and swung his legs around the side of the bed. He quickly stood and strode into the adjacent bathroom, where he turned on the light and stood at the vanity, leaning against his hands, which clutched the edges of the counter so tightly his knuckles were white. He hung his head, and Carlos saw his body shake as he tried desperately to hold onto his composure. Carlos could see, from his position sitting on the bed, that the mirror over the vanity had been covered with one of the sheets from the bed, his glasses folded neatly and placed on the back of the toilet, and that Cecil's tattoos were still bunched together, once again in the middle of his back, though a few of the tentacles tentatively reached upwards towards Cecil's shoulders, as though trying to comfort their host.

Slowly, Carlos rose from the bed and made his way into the bathroom. Cecil did not acknowledge him as he touched his arm.

"Cecil." He whispered. "Cecil, please look at me."

Cecil shook his head, his eyes closed. "No." He said, voice breaking. "I can't."

Carlos's heart constricted tightly in his chest, both from pain at watching his boyfriend suffer, and from the anger that went along with it.

_Bastards. Bastards. Bastards._

"Why?" He questioned. "Why can't you?"

"I just…can't." Cecil sobbed, tears leaking from beneath his eyelids.

"Why?!" Carlos reached out and grasped Cecil's wrist, squeezing it reassuringly. "Why can't you look at me, Cecil?!"

"Because!" Cecil whirled around, the pain etched onto his face so very clearly, his purple eyes wide with an animalistic fear. "Because, Carlos, because! What if they take you away too?! What if they take you, like they did my mother and brother, and make me forget _you?!_ "

And then, everything made sense. Within seconds, Carlos had Cecil once more wrapped in his embrace. The two sank to their knees on the bathroom floor, where Cecil shook as he sobbed. Carlos could feel the grief as it rolled from Cecil in waves: grief for the family he didn't remember, grief for the lie he'd been forced to live, and grief for the terrifying connection that everything about his life could be manipulated and taken from him as fast as it could be given, like a rug beneath his feet.

Carlos doubted Cecil's fears are long-standing. He doubted that the government – or Station Management, or whoever they think they are – had any reason to take him from Cecil, to re-educating him into forgetting everything about his love for the scientist, and for the scientist's love for him. Still, Carlos is a man of logic, and logic pointed out that it was not the possibility that they _would_ take Carlos from him that terrified Cecil so much, but the possibility that they _could._

"I love you." Cecil croaked from his place against Carlos's chest. "I love you."

Carlos pressed a tender kiss to the side of Cecil's forehead and stroked his hair. He whispered softly in Spanish in the other man's ear, whispered that he loved him too, that he'd die before he'd let anything else bad happen to him, that he wasn't going anywhere, that if Cecil did forget, he'd make him remember.

In a twist of irony, it is Carlos's words and voice that allow the Voice of Night Vale to relax, and he slumped against the scientist in exhaustion, finally giving into the call of sleep. Carlos didn't dare try to move him back to the bed in fear that the man would awaken and become unable to fall back into the peaceful slumber he had so viciously fought for, so instead he leaned them against the wall, Cecil's head still pressed close to his heart. As Cecil fell deeper into sleep, his tattoos slowly made their way back up onto his shoulders and down his arms, and Carlos smiled as they lightly brushed against him as they did so, as if to thank him for loving Cecil – and by extension, them – so much.

Of course he does. He'd break every last cassette tape he could get his hands on, shatter every mirror in the world, waltz straight into the Dog Park, wrestle with a Hooded Figure if it meant keeping Cecil from ever experiencing this pain again, if it meant keeping his Cecil safe.

Whoever had done this – whoever had hurt his Cecil so badly – would pay.

He swore, with his fingers lightly caressing the wiggling purple ink and white-blond hair, that he'd never allow this to happen to Cecil again.

Not on his life.


End file.
